Chapter 4: Glimpses

AN: Okay, I've decided to continue this. Sorry about the long delay, but I've been awfully busy lately and just haven't had the time. I do hope to get back into a regular – probably bi-weekly – updating schedule now though. Well, I guess I've kept you waiting more than long enough. So… on with the story. ;P


James turned and looked through the slit in the back of the cab. He nervously eyed the brown giant frozen in the back section of the van. It was the third time since they'd left the museum that the rookie had felt the need to check on the prisoner they were transporting.

"Relax," Bill, the driver, said. "That holding area was done up special to transport Mr. Freeze. It's liquid nitrogen cooled, and equipped with more backups and redundancies than a dog has flees. There's no way that mound of mud is going to thaw out before we reach Arkham."

"What about after we reach Arkham?" the rookie asked.

"Meh, who cares? It's not like we'll be sticking around after dropping him off. Once we reach Arkham, Clay Face here becomes the doctors' problem," the veteran replied.

He focused his eyes back on the road in front of them and then let out a snort. "Never could understand why the city thinks it's a good idea to commit our worst criminals to a mental institution. They just keep escaping and wreaking more havoc. Take the Joker: He's been in and out of Arkham more times than Hogan and his men have Stalag 13. Any other city in the country would just stick a needle in his arm and be done with it. But no, the Batman caught him again last week, and they sent him right back to Arkham. I tell you, sometimes I think the people running this city have IQs lower than their shoe sizes."

"Who's Hogan, and what's Stalag 13?" James questioned.

Bill just shook his head. Kids today…

"You think he really exists?" James asked.

Bill's brow furled. "Who? Hogan?"

"No, the Bat."

Bill chuckled. "Well, I don't know if I buy into those urban myths about him being a vampire… or some secret, pet project of the Commissioner's designed to strike fear into the hearts of criminals. Heck, I don't even know if I believe that 'the Bat' is just one person – could be a whole gang of them, some neighborhood watch group… thing that went off the deep-end. But one thing I do know is that someone iced that mountain of mud in the back. Someone caught the Joker last time he busted out and left him dangling from that overhang. And someone broke up that smuggling ring down by the docks last month. I don't claim to know what's out there… but something is. And I'm just glad it that seems to be on our side."


"No, no, no!" the tiny man in the stereotypical mob suit shouted as he overturned the card table. "I should've known getter than to trust the jog to that dirt for grains moron! Why am I surrounded gy such incompetence? And you… you were suppose to ge his look out! Why didn't you warn him when you saw Gatman enter the museum?"

"I-I'm s-sorry boss," the thug nervously stammered as he stared into the small man's cold, soulless eyes. "B-but I didn't see him enter. He must've already been in the museum before we got there… or something."

"Did you hear that, Dummy?" the midget mob boss asked casting a look back at the mild-mannered man behind him. "The Gatman must've already geen in the museum. Of course, no one would notice some wacko dressed up like a giant gat running around the place. Tell me, Dummy, does that sound right to you?"

"I-I wouldn't know, Scarface," the man - 'Dummy' apparently - meekly replied.

"Well, it don't sound right to me," the mobster said turning back to the thug he'd previously been talking to. "Sounds to me like you're making excuses. And if there's one thing I hate more than incompetent morons, it's incompetent morons who try to excuse their incompetence!" The small man raised his right arm.

"No, Boss, plea-" the thug began to plead as he saw the Tommy-gun leveled at his chest, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of gun fire.

Blood gushed out, spraying Scarface and spurting onto the wimpy looking man behind him. The former didn't even seem to notice, while the latter looked so horrified by the brutal sight that he was afraid to wipe the man's blood from his cheek. The 'Dummy' was frozen in place while the tiny mob boss turned to the rest of his men. "Tomorrow at three, while the cops are changing shifts and occupied with their roll calls and reports, we attack the museum in force… and this time none of us are making it out alive unless we have that sword fragment. Is that clear?"

No one said a thing, but all the men nodded in understanding. No one was crazy enough to countermand or argue with the tiny boss man, not even the 'Dummy' he was forced to rely on. This time, it wasn't going to be a quick snatch and grab at the museum. It was going to be a full out assault… one that could easily turn into a blood bath if the cops did get involved. When compared to the money that… 'collector' in the Big Apricot would pay for a piece of what had once been Joan's 'Heavenly Sword', the lives of thugs and museum patrons alike were inconsequential. After all, the value of a human being was a measly four dollars and fifty cents, while that inanimate sword fragment was worth millions.


Integra returned to her room feeling a strange mixture of fatigue and excitement. On the one hand she'd been caught unawares and very nearly killed, and she still hadn't completely adjusted to Gotham time (making it feel much later than it actually was). She was tired. Her clothes were stained with mud; and old, cooled sweat clung to her body, making her feel the need to take a shower.

But on the other hand, she'd found herself a new challenge, a – possibly vampiric – sparring partner, right here in Gotham. He was a dark, mysterious man, one who'd managed to take out the villain she'd been facing with a single strike and then seemingly vanish into thin air. The English knight found this intriguing. And the idea of personally hunting down a capable vampire possessing powers she was unfamiliar with was mentally stimulating. It seemed that not all American vamps were sparkly, romantic saps who could only recite poetry… regardless of what the American media seemed intent on leading outsiders to believe. Some could be interesting.

Integra got out a change of clothes, took that shower she wanted and then opened up her small, portable computer. She checked her email before moving on to anything else. Any possible issues involving the Hellsing organization took priority. That was her duty; this American hunt was just for fun. And the Lady Integra had always been the kind of person who placed duty above fun.

Integra only had one unread email, a message from Seras. The lady knight clicked it open and skimmed through the dry report details. It was all standard stuff, the same stuff she'd had to contend with as head of the organization: copies of day to day operations, paperwork and a few updates to current leads they were tracking down. In short it was the same type of info the fledgling had sent her last time, and Seras seemed to be handling it all just fine. The only real point of interest was found in the last few paragraphs. Those were different… very 'different'.

"In your last reply, you said that I should inform you of 'any… 'questionable' actions or claims Alucard tries'. Well, I'm not really sure Master is behind this. BUT I know that things like this never happened to me before I came to Hellsing. And I must admit, I do find this rather disturbing. So, I figure I should tell you about it… just to be safe.

"Since my last email I've been haunted by a rather strange and pervasive – every time I close my eyes and try to get a little sleep I find myself right back in it – dream. Master is Winnie the Pooh. I'm Piglet. And I think you may be Christopher Robin – though I'm not sure since 'he' doesn't seem to have that big a role in this dream and the face is always a little fuzzy. Anyway, Pooh Bear – 'Master' – and Piglet – me – are vampiric representations of our respective animals. And there's this group of tiny humans in what I can only describe as the most hellish bee hive imaginable.

"The hive is black with protruding red thorns and seemingly suspended in the air by magic… or some dark force, since it's not tethered to any tree or other object. The people inside are all screaming as streams of blood gush from their veins – usually through slits in their wrists. But for some reason they don't die. The blood just keeps spurting out and running down the sides of the interior of the bee hive, collecting into a large pool at the bottom.

"'Master Bear' seems intent on reaching this hive and draining the 'blood honey' from it, and he attempts to do this in various, ludicrous ways – including using a balloon to float up, launching himself from a medieval catapult and firing himself out of a circus canon (complete with clown paint on the barrel). And somehow, no matter how crazy the scheme, he always seems to find a way to talk 'Fledgling Piglet' into helping him out with it.

"Do you think that these are just normal nightmares I'm having… or could my master be influencing my dreams somehow? And if he is, to what purpose? Has he ever tried anything like this with you?"

Integra set back in her chair and eyed the email strangely, almost as if it might try to leap from her screen and devour her sanity as well. One of her pet vampires was clearly a very disturbed individual. And though she suspected it was Alucard, she couldn't be completely sure. She couldn't remember him ever pulling a stunt like this with her. Even still, if there was one thing Alucard was, it was creative. And something like influencing his fledgling's dreams was probably within his means, given their mental connection. But she couldn't be sure, and she said as much in her reply.

"I'm afraid I don't know if Alucard is the source of these bizarre dreams or not. I certainly wouldn't put it past him, but if this is one of his… 'games', it's a new one. For now, it's probably best that we operate under the assumption your master is to blame.

"I'd recommend that you confront him about these dreams, order him to tell you the truth and don't fall for any of his evasion tactics or attempts to side track the conversation. Persist in your questioning until you get a clear 'yes' or 'no'. If he is to blame, order him to stop immediately (you have temporary authority over him and he'll obey a direct order), and I'll deal with him appropriately when I return.

"If he isn't responsible, continue in your duties to the best of your abilities, and I'll see if we can't get you some help once I return. Also, be sure to inform me if you experience any other… 'strange phenomena'."

Integra finished the email with her customary signature and sent it off. She shook her head and sighed and then went back to her computer. She did a web search for public libraries in Gotham and found that the largest, the Wayne Library wasn't too far from her hotel. Actually it was on the same street as the museum – convenient.

Wayne? Why was that name familiar to her? Wait a minute, hadn't that been the last name of that odd, Casanova wannabe she'd been interrogating right before everything had gone straight to Loony Land? Well, that was odd. Could he be connected to any of this? It didn't seem likely. After all, what evidence was there of that? She'd met him shortly before the 'terrorists' had stormed the place. He'd been doing something weird with his watch, and there was a library with his name not far away. They were interesting coincidences, but they hardly proved anything. Still, any coincidence tended to raise Integra's suspicion, and here she had more than one.

"Something else to look into," the lady knight mused aloud before returning to her current task, scanning the website for information on the library's operating hours - 6:00 AM. The library opened at six in the morning, and she'd be there when that happened, for in the library's newspaper archives, Integra could find every story ever written about this mysterious Batman. Her great-great-grandfather had always believed that the first rule of monster hunting was: "Do your research." And she agreed with him. And there, there among the dust covered tomes, among the oak shelves and yellowing pages, this Batman's story would reveal itself to her. And perhaps – time permitting – she'd also answer the riddle of the elusive Mr. Wayne.


In a dark cave, deep beneath the foundation of an impressive mansion, a solitary figure bent over a keyboard, entering data. His soup, a rich, creamy bisque, was stone cold and the person who'd brought it to him was long gone. But the figure remained. He'd just finished typing in the last bit of data, and now he sat back and took his first sip of the chilled broth as he waited for the computer to finish its analysis.

The computer was state of the art, completely cutting edge, with more processing power than the combined servers of most government agencies. And before the man with blue eyes and dark hair could place the spoon back in his bowl, the large screen in the center flashed green as it lined up the wavelengths and identified a perfect match.

The man's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. There had always been legends about Joan's Fierbois sword – that it wasn't from Earth; that it had come from above; that it was a gift from God. The man wasn't so sure about the God part, but one thing was certain. The material the sword was made of was definitely of alien origin.


Well, I hope you enjoyed the new chapter. Please let me know what you thought of it. Thanks.

Have a good day, and God bless.

Metropolis Kid.

To blue bear: Never fear, Integra and Bruce/Batman will meet up again and next time they'll interact more. I'm not sure if she could defeat him or not. They've both pretty much at the pinnacle of what a pure human can achieve as far as combat potential goes. But then I'm not planning (not right now at least) on having them try to kill each other. So, I don't think it'll be an issue. Well, thanks for the review. I hope you're still enjoying this.